Four days off, just about managed to chill and then it's back to the grind to pay the mortgage, whoopy do!
Well aren't I the happy little soldier - how dare I be moaning about having a job, or even having a mortgage to pay, I should be bloody grateful, yada yada yada.
Well excuse me, but what the fuck am I doing with my life? Why am I busting a gut - dosing myself up on painkillers to get through each day and getting shit hot reviews every year, just to be told there's a recession ''but we really do recognise your achievements''. Well that's all right then isn't it! - In real terms, due to the lack of any pay rise over the last 5 years, I'm worse off than I was two promotions ago. I'm now spending over 14% of my monthly salary of petrol just to get to bloody work, grumble, moan bitch....
Why don't I leave? Shitting recession and shitting post op niggles are keeping me tethered to the safety of a guaranteed bacs payment, that and the promise that I really am going to be rewarded, I'm their most valuable asset (I'll just get MUG tattooed on my forehead)!
So that's pretty much what goes through my head every day. That and the self abuse I dole out to myself, by reminding me I've only got another 29 years left - just in case I'm not feeling shitty enough already.
I've come to the conclusion I must enjoy being a miserable old trout, any sane, normal, reasonably functioning person would be busting a gut to make changes - at the very least look for the positives.
The Journey to work for instance:
Yes, the trees look really pretty with the early morning sun streaming through their branches. Yes, the blanket of mist gently hugging the patchwork fields, would be giving Wordsworth a hard-on.
My reality? Two tractors, a white van man, an articulated lorry and a Sunday driver.
I'm not even going to mention the three pit stops I made on the way home to pick up painkillers from the chemist - the first two didn't have any, and at the third I found I'd forgotten to get my credit card off the other half, following the impromptu Bank Holiday Shop, so left empty handed.
On the plus side, I discovered my Royal Wedding guest name would be Lady Marjory Little Orange Fish Number One Gorse.
On an even more positive note there is absolutely no chance whatsoever I will actually be going anywhere near anything nuptial on the day in question.
So it hasn't been a totally shit day after all!
Well aren't I the happy little soldier - how dare I be moaning about having a job, or even having a mortgage to pay, I should be bloody grateful, yada yada yada.
Well excuse me, but what the fuck am I doing with my life? Why am I busting a gut - dosing myself up on painkillers to get through each day and getting shit hot reviews every year, just to be told there's a recession ''but we really do recognise your achievements''. Well that's all right then isn't it! - In real terms, due to the lack of any pay rise over the last 5 years, I'm worse off than I was two promotions ago. I'm now spending over 14% of my monthly salary of petrol just to get to bloody work, grumble, moan bitch....
Why don't I leave? Shitting recession and shitting post op niggles are keeping me tethered to the safety of a guaranteed bacs payment, that and the promise that I really am going to be rewarded, I'm their most valuable asset (I'll just get MUG tattooed on my forehead)!
So that's pretty much what goes through my head every day. That and the self abuse I dole out to myself, by reminding me I've only got another 29 years left - just in case I'm not feeling shitty enough already.
I've come to the conclusion I must enjoy being a miserable old trout, any sane, normal, reasonably functioning person would be busting a gut to make changes - at the very least look for the positives.
The Journey to work for instance:
Yes, the trees look really pretty with the early morning sun streaming through their branches. Yes, the blanket of mist gently hugging the patchwork fields, would be giving Wordsworth a hard-on.
My reality? Two tractors, a white van man, an articulated lorry and a Sunday driver.
I'm not even going to mention the three pit stops I made on the way home to pick up painkillers from the chemist - the first two didn't have any, and at the third I found I'd forgotten to get my credit card off the other half, following the impromptu Bank Holiday Shop, so left empty handed.
On the plus side, I discovered my Royal Wedding guest name would be Lady Marjory Little Orange Fish Number One Gorse.
On an even more positive note there is absolutely no chance whatsoever I will actually be going anywhere near anything nuptial on the day in question.
So it hasn't been a totally shit day after all!
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